


Shattered

by erhwrites



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Breaking Things, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Gen, Grief/Mourning, House Fortemps, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury, One Shot, Patch 3.0: Heavensward Spoilers, Reflection, Survivor Guilt, chronologically related to Scars, sad drabble, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10734408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erhwrites/pseuds/erhwrites
Summary: Alyx can't go home, not yet.





	Shattered

_That was really fucking stupid._

It was the first lucid thought she had after the storm within her subsided, and searing pain brought her back to her senses. Exhausted, she slumped down into the chair at the nearby desk to assess the damage.

The mirror was broken, of course, sporting long fractures radiating out from the point of impact. Whatever shards of it had not fallen onto the floor were now caught in her bloodied fist, where the knuckles were already bruising. _This is why pugilists wear gloves, you idiot_ , She thought, grabbing the washing cloth just within reach and resting her mangled hand upon it. _Though I’m sure smashing things in inn rooms is not the only reason._

Save for the pain in her hand, she felt numb and hollow. Her fragmented reflection showed a pale and tired face, eyes red from weeping. The lamplight created a dim halo around her, refracted, broken in the reflection. She thought of the mirror in her room at Fortemps Manor—home, for that is what it had become—and the way the light there always made her look young, somehow, and soft.

 _I should be there,_ she thought. _I should be with them._ But she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t step foot across that threshold, look them in the eyes, exchange subdued pleasantries. She couldn’t share in their grief. She couldn’t put on the brave face of their hero and strategize how to move forward, or discuss the next move, or be a leader. And she couldn’t smile, no matter how much he would have wanted her to.

Hours before, though she was no longer sure how many, she had made her declaration of revenge. _“Life for death.”_ Her voice broke when she said it. It isn’t what he would have wanted, she knew that. It’s what _she_ wanted, and in this moment she wanted it more than anything, even though some small quiet part of her knew it would do nothing to salve her wounds. That voice was drowned out by another: a screaming, raging grief, one that made her ruin mirrors in quiet inn rooms—one that made her hate the sight of herself because all she saw was somebody who did not save him.

And in that same reflection she saw the faces of all else she had failed to save, and their collective gaze crushed her as if she were drowning in cold water. 

If Haurchefant were here right now, she thought, he would tell her calmly that there was nothing she could have done (save die herself, which would be wholly unacceptable to him anyway). He would tell her that her grief was valid, but that her guilt was not. He would disagree with her want for revenge, but stand by her anyway, as he always did. 

But he was not, and could not. Where his words would have been a comfort, there was only the angry sound of blood rushing in her ears, and the darkness encroaching upon the room. The night sky was sharp and moonless through the window, the cold clutching at the glass. She felt as though time stood still, immobilized by the weight pressing her from all sides. Her mind eventually returned to the Manor, and she wondered if anyone there could sleep. The thought of returning twisted a knife in the pit of her stomach, even if only to abscond to her room— _her_ room?—to merely hide in warmer surroundings. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Time relentlessly passed. As the candles in the room dwindled, the quiet and tired voice of reason did finally get her attention. She could not sit in the Forgotten Knight and slowly bleed to death, she decided, noticing the cloth she used to rest her hand was now soaked through. She rose unsteadily to her feet, though not immediately sure where she intended to go. Wearily she decided that the Congregation just across the way would be a suitable place to seek medical attention for what was likely a common sort of injury among young knights.. _.I shouldn’t walk any further than that anyway_ , she thought, unable to remember the last thing she ate or drank. With her good hand, she labored to find a small stack of coin which she placed on the desk for a new mirror. As she made for the door, she shrugged into her coat, and paused to take a last look back at the shattered reflection across the room. The broken woman in the broken mirror despaired, but with a peculiar and grim determination left the room behind her.

Herself, at least, she could save–and that had to be good enough for now.


End file.
